Can You Help Me?
by leesungyeol
Summary: Jim Moriarty isn't a normal kid. He's tired and he wants to play games. And he might actually get his way for once, and perhaps not by himself.
1. Georgina

Well, I wanted to write something about Jim because he's like my favourite character ever, and I had an idea for this. idk. Supposed to be the days where Jim first starts his consulting criminal work. ;D I'll post up Chapter 2 when I have the time. So um yeah anyway enjoy, reviews are greatly appreciated and automatic cookies for you if you do so.

Jim Moriarty does not belong to me, yadda yadda yadda.

* * *

"Jim. You're late."

The teenager stumbled over to his seat and sat down, dumping his rucksack on the floor and looking up to see Mrs Hudson's rather unpleasant frown stretched on her face. Jim Moriarty blinked. Pause.

"You're _late_, Jim." She repeated.

A few students started sniggering, but Jim didn't care. He didn't care about anything, not really – the teacher was lucky to have him in the damn class today.

"I know." He said simply, folding his arms.

She was started to get annoyed now – it was painfully obvious by her facial expression – and Jim liked that. He enjoyed irritating people.

"Do you want an hour's detention after school, young man?"

"Thanks, but no thanks," he replied, reaching out for his bag and rummaging through it to get out his History book and pen. He smirked as he heard an exasperated sigh and continued with the lesson.

Sometimes Jim wished he and his family had never moved to London. It was full of idiots, for starters – they were all stupid. Thick, thick thick, every single one of them. It was boring, competing with morons… there was nothing fun, no challenges.

Jim liked challenges.

The lesson drawled on in its usual way with occasional interruptions by Jim's 'despicable behaviour', as Mrs Hudson liked to call it. Jim was grateful for the lesson to have ended, because if another _idiot_ said another _idiotic_ word he would -

"J-Jim!" An unfamiliar voice was calling out to him as he trudged out the classroom door on his way to the bathroom. He turned around, and an unpopular girl named Georgina, he believed, was chasing after him desperately. Her uniform was scruffy, which was unusual for her, and she hadn't tamed her hair that morning. Bags under her eyes were forming, as if she didn't get any sleep.

The boy narrowed his eyes, not sure what she wanted. Jim didn't have many friends – mainly because he didn't want them – yet he certainly didn't want to be aquatinted by somebody like Georgina.

"Yeah, um, hi," she said, sounding a little nervous. There was a slight pause before she said, "Um, interesting subject we're studying in History!"

He stared at her. "What?"

"You know, Tudors," she continued. "Henry the eighth, I think it's really interesting how he had six wives, it's weird, isn't it? I certainly couldn't manage with six wives, you know, especially how he only wanted a baby boy, he ended up with only one! Can you imagine that –"

"What do you want, Georgina?"

Her face fell, as if he saw through her disguise. "I heard you were good with helping people."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. _Him_? _Jim Moriarty_? Good at _helping_ people? How could he be good at helping people if he pretty much hated the majority of them? He opened his mouth to tell her she was taking the piss, but then he shut it again, thinking about changing his words.

"Who told you this?" He settled with after the pause.

She shrugged. "Just… somebody. But can you help me? Please?"

"I don't –"

Just before he finished his sentence he stopped, because he had an idea. A brilliant idea. Jim frequently had those, being the genius he was compared to everybody else in this dull school. Well, it wasn't like he wasn't a genius outside that school. Because he was. He just didn't want to learn things like science and foreign languages and history and geography.

Three years stuck in London. Three years he'd met everybody – and hated them all. But this anonymous stranger claiming that he was good at helping people with their problems… no, this could start a whole new craze for Jim.

He didn't feel bad about having the idea one little bit.

"Sure," he said. "What's the problem?"

* * *

Georgina and Jim were sitting together on a bench outside, eating their lunch while discussing Georgina's curious troubles. They had decided it wasn't a good idea to discuss it in the school hallways with lots of people listening – where they were sitting on the bench was a much quieter, suitable place.

"My dad left at the age of three," she explained. "He and my mum never got along, and every night I just used to hear yelling and hitting and screaming. I lived with my mum, and she always seemed fine about it – until now. I don't know what's wrong with her. She starts taking pills and sleeps the whole day, and when she's awake she won't talk to me and will just leave me all by myself in the house. She comes back at 3am every night drunk, and smells of cigarettes even though she stopped years ago. Pills, pills, and more pills – it's the only thing on her mind. She's taking overdoses, and I'm scared something's going to happen to her, Jim, please can you help me?"

Jim thought about this for a while, not touching the lunch he had bought from the canteen. Interesting. He had no idea how a fifteen year old boy could help with the situation, but he knew what he was going to _do_, oh yes.

"I think," Jim said, after thinking about Georgina's mum, "that you should report back to me tomorrow. So I can think about it overnight. You know. These things don't come off the top of my head." He indicated to his skull, tapping it on the side and giving her a small smile.

She nodded, sobbing a little. He hadn't noticed she was crying. _Great_, he thought. _Don't need this_.

"It's just, I don't know what's got into her and I'm so _scare__d_ Jim…" Tears were starting to roll down her face, and Jim didn't know what to do. He just gave in and offered a shoulder to cry on, and she did so, until she finally recovered, wiping the tears from her eyes in frustration.

"Sorry," she said, sounding a bit embarrassed. "That was stupid of me."

There was a slight pause – there were a lot of them between the two – before Georgina piped up again, her voice still shaking somewhat. "You're a really good person, Jim," she said. "Thank you."

He gave her a smile, tossed his uneaten lunch into the bin and walked off, thinking _you have no idea of my plan, do you?_


	2. Teased

I was incredibly bored in Maths so I just wrote all of this on the back of one of my Mandarin sheets. Short, ja. I'll make the next chapter longer. Thanks to my reviewers, COOKIES FOR YOU. More reviews would be nice, however. ;3

* * *

Bored.

Jim was bored.

He had a brother, but he was in university, leaving the house all to himself, not including his mother and father.

Jim didn't like his parents.

Rules, rules, rules. No freedom. No fun. Just, "stay at home, Jim. Don't go out with your friends, Jim. Don't use the internet, Jim. Do your homework, Jim. Eat your dinner, Jim.

"Go to sleep, Jim."

Oh, how the boy dreamed of getting revenge. He always loved the concept of it. Getting back at the people who treated him like crap. He liked to think back at the days when he was bullied by people for his accent and his rather Irish like behaviour, and how he could have beat them up right on the spot.

He didn't. He just let them… tease him.

They left him alone now. He was just ignored. He wasn't sure if he liked that better or worse. It was sometimes when Jim Moriarty was approached to by the 'the gang' but they didn't do much. Just poke fun at him and walk away.

Jim wished he wasn't so weak.

Dinner was a quiet event in the Moriarty household. Jim's mum was the silent one – cooking, cleaning, watching TV without saying a word to either her husband or her son. The father was more of the chatty person, but his work had put him under so much pressure recently he was too tired to converse. Jim did not speak to his mum or dad – he thought they were idiots, too. Idiots for making him move to London from Ireland. Idiots for making him start all over again when he was perfectly happy with his life.

At the dinner table, it surprised Jim when his father spoke up.

"How's school, son?"

The teenager didn't say anything, taking a bite of his sausage.

Silence. Chewing.

"Fine."

"How are your friends?"

Jim stopped chewing for a moment before quickly recovering himself. "Great," he said half-heartedly.

"Got a girlfriend?"

_Well that was a stupid question_. Instead, Jim just answered, "No, Dad."

The old man chuckled as if he thought differently. Jim couldn't help but roll his eyes, and he pushed away the plate in front of him, feeling full. He nodded once at his mum to show that he enjoyed the meal, and stood up, walking straight to his bedroom where he spent most of his time.

Sitting down at his desk, he flipped open his notebook, reading what he had written so far.

_- Georgina Lawson_

_Wants help with her mum's drinking/overdose problem. Knows things about the gang considering her friendship with Astha and Caitlin; therefore could be great use for revenge plan. Blackmail, if she doesn't give in, only other option would equal death._

Jim narrowed his eyes as he read the last sentence, but didn't feel bad for writing as something as horrible as that. He didn't even think it was _that_ mean. It's just _death_. Death was fascinating. She wouldn't mind.

_- Carl Powers_

_The leader of the gang. The worst of the lot (not to mention the stupidest). Has eczema. Dislikes cabbage. Is dating Caitlin Hope. Main target. _

He liked the idea of killing Carl Powers. The boy was a complete and utter moron, and Jim wouldn't be surprised if he didn't know what six times eight was. Smiling to himself at the thought, Jim added in one more sentence –

_Kill him with poison._

It was another thing that Jim was fascinated by. Poison. Germs. Bacteria. Disease. Virus. He didn't care if it was normal or not, but he'd always wanted to murder somebody with some sort of poison. It sounded… intriguing. Abnormal. Different.

Jim didn't care if he was considered a psychopath.

He shut his notebook, not feeling the motivation to plan anymore. He'd done so much dreaming, so much plotting, so much _thinking_ – but he'd never done something, never made the move to make his dreams a reality, and he was getting tired of that. He wanted to take action in his life. He wanted to crush the thick classmates into microscopic pieces.

He _loved_ the idea of that.


	3. Tired

yaaaaaaay! I'm really proud of this chapter. Thank you to all my reviews. Enjoy this chapter! :)

* * *

The next day at school Jim did not see Georgina. She wasn't in Geography, nor was she in Science; this surprised Jim, because he had wanted to execute part of his plan today. It was while the boy was sitting cross legged in the library of his school and deeply involved with his novel focused on an antagonist that he heard footsteps approaching his little seating area. Finishing his page and bookmarking it, he looked up to see a more tired looking version of Georgina.

"Hi, Jim." She said, her voice drawling unpleasantly. Jim wasn't sure what to say, so he simply raised an eyebrow and silently asking if everything was okay. She shrugged, pulling up a chair next to him and flopping down in it.

"She's being worse than ever," she said. "Last night she didn't get home until five, and at one point she fainted, and I had no idea what to do, I didn't want to call the ambulance, I was too scared they were going to put me into care or something. So I put her in her bed and waited a bit, I mean she was still breathing and stuff and she woke up and smiled at me and just got out and pretended nothing happened. I'm worried it's going to happen again, or – or maybe even worse – d-did you think of anything?"

Jim considered this for a moment before nodding. "I thought maybe she was under a lot of pressure, and many people take the route of drugs and alcohol when depressed. My mum goes under a lot of stress too, so I thought maybe if you spiked her drink with anxiety pills once a day she might get better." Pause.

Georgina's face immediately lightened up. "Really? Do they work? Do you know where I can get them?"

Jim shrugged. "They work for my mum pretty well. I have some that I can give to you, if you want. I just didn't bring them in with me – I was worried they were going to get confiscated or something." _This bloody school_, he thought. "I was thinking, though, do you want to meet up after school so I can give them to you?"

She looked happy. Really happy. Knowing what he was going to do didn't make him feel bad, however. Jim was like that. He just didn't give a _damn_.

"Sure!" She said. "I'll give you my address so you can meet me outside my house." Getting out a scrap piece of paper in her blazer and a pen, she scribbled down where she lived and handed it to him happily. Jim glanced over it quickly before slipping it in his trouser pockets, and nodded once.

It came as a shock to him when Georgina leaned over and hugged Jim. He wasn't sure what to do – hug her back? He patted her on the back awkwardly, hoping the moment would end quickly so he didn't have to endure the hug any longer.

To Jim's frustration, however, she held on tighter. "Thank you," Georgina murmured, "thank you for helping me."

"You're welcome," he said automatically. He didn't intend it to have any meaning. It was just something he always said whenever thanked; he never really meant it.

She pulled away, her cheeks turning red, nodded once and walked off, fixing her skirt as scurrying away. Jim stared after her, looking a bit confused, before picking up his book again and opening it up to the page where he had left off.

* * *

Escaping from his home was not difficult. Jim's mother had her television programme turned up to full volume, the voices literally booming through the house. She didn't pay attention when watched TV. It was easy for Jim to just open the window ever so slightly and slip out – he was always slim for his age.

Finding the house was the problem. He wasn't very familiar with London, since he was hardly ever let out apart from his way to school and back. It took a bit of time, wandering about streets and asking a few people for help before he finally found the place he was looking for. It was a small, unoccupied street, with small little houses connected together all in a row and apple trees inhabiting every front garden, which had been carefully looked after, mowed and cut and tamed. It was getting dark, and it was only five when Jim had left his home.

Spotting the correct door number, he knocked on it cautiously. The door opened a few minutes later with Georgina's face peering out curiously, and looking relieved to see Jim's face. "Hey," she said. "Do you want to give them over quickly? My mum's sleeping."

Jim shuffled uncomfortably. All part of the act. "Um… well, you see… I was hoping we could go somewhere quieter, since I wanted to ask you a question. I don't think it would be safe here."

Georgina pursed her lips, thinking about this for a moment. She then ducked back for a second, and Jim heard a little clanging before she came out fully this time, still dressed in her school uniform. Shutting the door behind her and shutting it with the keys she had taken with her – presumably the reason for the clanging noises – Georgina blushed slightly as she started walking with Jim.

"So, um, what did you want to ask me?" Her voice was a little shaky, and it almost disgusted him. It was pretty clear Georgina was taking a fancy to Jim, and he didn't like that at all. Jim never took an interest to girls. Sure, he may have _pretended_ to, but he liked to consider himself with no sexual interests whatsoever; 'asexual', as they liked to name it.

Jim didn't say anything until they moved onto the next road; a small alleyway that certainly wouldn't attract any attention. Perfect.

"Talk here," Jim pointed to the alleyway, glancing at Georgina. Her expression looked a little worried, but he didn't care. _She should be scared_, he thought.

They stopped in the middle of the darkness, and Jim turned to Georgina, grinning slightly. The fourteen year old girl saw this wasn't a normal smile – no, it was a cruel one. As if he had devised something all along. Her heart starting pumping hard, but she told herself she was kidding, this was _Jim Moriarty_.

"What," Jim said, "do you know about the Carl Powers gang?"

"W-what?"

He did not repeat the question, because he knew she had heard every word clearer than the sound of birds cheeping on a summer's day.

"Why on Earth do you want to know?" Georgina's voice was distinctly shaking.

"You see, _Georgina_," Jim spat, leaning against the wall with his hands buried in his pockets and those hazel eyes of his sharper than ever, "I'm tired."

That was all she was getting? Call _that_ an explanation? She lurched forward threateningly, still scared, but ever so quickly something was reflecting the moonlight in Jim's hand. The boy examined it, the smile still plastered across his face.

"Knives," he mused. "Useful things, are they not? Cooking, chopping, dicing, slicing, _killing_…"

"Jim?" Her voice was so low and hushed that his name cascaded in the air alongside the wind until it was nothing. _He was so nice… how – how does somebody _do_ that?_

"Jim, Jim, Jim," he mimicked her voice, still twisting the knife in his hand. "I'm sick of _Jim_. _Jim_, the weird boy who sits at the back of classrooms. _Jim_, the Irish guy with the accent. Jim, the clever _freak_." He could hear her breathing – heavy and uneven. He liked that. He was scaring her.

"Why am I never anything _more_?" The 15 year old Irish psychopath yelled, his voice bouncing off the brick walls and echoing through Georgina's ears. _More, more, more, more…_

"Tell me," he said.

"I c-can't –"

"Tell me!"

"_Please_ –"

It all happened in a second – Georgina was being held up against a wall roughly a boy whom she had trusted only ten minutes ago; the knife that twisted in Jim Moriarty's hand intimidatingly was now held up against her throat. She was sobbing, pleading to be let go.

"Tell me."

"Jim –"

"Do you think they're still your friends, even after they treated you like shit? Are you seriously sacrificing yourself for those bastards?"

"Let me –"

Jim chuckled. "Oh, what's the point? You're pretty useless. I should just get rid of you."

"Jim."

As he plunged the knife deep into Georgina Lawson's throat, he whispered in her ear "It's Jim Moriarty, dear."


	4. Followed

hum di dum. chapter fooooour~

* * *

A funeral for Georgina Lawson was held after two weeks of her murder. The death was not made public, which made Jim a little relived.

He was forced to attend the funeral. The whole of his year was. Jim found the scene so hilarious he had to struggle not to burst out laughing, although at one point a snort escaped from his nose while Georgina's mother made a speech. One of the people in his year at school sitting next to Jim shot him a bewildered glance, and Jim quickly made it seem like he was coughing. Luckily the boy did not take any further interest in him.

Jim was lucky that his parents hadn't noticed his absence, and he realized he could have escaped so many times without them knowing. They didn't care anymore. Jim was just another person who lived in their house and returning home to see them not having noticed a thing made him realize this. He could do whatever he wanted without them ever knowing about it – if he was careful.

He didn't go to sleep that night. He spent all night sitting on his desk and planning out every little detail of what he was going to do with Carl Powers and everybody else who tormented him, knowing that he had succeeding killing his first ever person. Jim was finally able to open his eyes and take charge. For the first time in a while, he actually felt good about himself.

The murder was discovered two days later and the police couldn't find any clues of interest. Jim had taken the knife back home with him, washing it out thoroughly so there were no signs of blood left on it, and slipped it back into the kitchen where he had got it from. The only useful thing the police had managed to get was the fact that Georgina had left the house on purpose, looking at the keys she had brought with her that were found in her blazer pocket.

A couple of days after Georgina's funeral, Jim was walking home when he spotted Carl Powers by himself a few metres in front of him, making his way home rather quickly. Jim narrowed his eyes in thought, realizing he had no idea where the bully lived – and this was his chance to find out. Surreptitiously he sped up a bit, following him carefully. Carl turned around a few times, getting the feeling that he was being shadowed, but Jim managed to duck behind bushes without being noticed.

They walked onwards for another five minutes before finally Carl stopped, turned to a pretty little bungalow and opened the door before looking around one last time for any trespassers. Jim was perched behind a tree standing outside Carl's house, cautious not to let himself be seen. When the door shut behind Carl, Jim observed the house he lived in – well looked after, it seemed. The front garden was decorated with roses settled on the side of the fence, all of them watered daily. The curtains were a light burgundy colour, and were currently shut, even though the window was open.

Jim, looking around to see nobody was watching him, crept up to the window, peeking over it slightly to see who was in the room. It was small sitting room with brown leather sofas and a TV displaying a rerun of EastEnders. It looked like a completely normal home, and this surprised Jim. He'd expected… he didn't know what he expected. Just something a little bit more than normal. The boy took of his bag which was starting to hurt his shoulder now and left it beside the window.

Nobody was occupying the room, so Jim took advantage and quickly – but quietly – slipped in, skidding behind the sofa just in case anybody came in at that exact moment. Silence. Thank God nobody heard him. Jim stood up slowly, lightly making his way out so that the shoes he had on didn't make a noise against the mahogany floorboard. It creaked only slightly, but luckily enough it didn't attract any attention.

Jim's first instinct was to find the bathroom, which wasn't very hard to discover. It wasn't very big, like the rest of the house, but Jim knew what he needed and he was certain he would find it in here.

The boy opened the cupboard, taking a couple of minutes to take in what was in there – toothpaste, cleaning products, make-up, everything that was unnecessary in Jim's case. He had to take a few things out, rummaging at the back of the cupboard when he finally found what he needed – Carl's eczema medication. Jim turned the little tube of cream in his hand over and over before placing it in his pocket.

Starting to put things back where he had found them, he heard Carl's familiar voice calling through the bathroom door. Jim froze as Carl tapped on the door impatiently, yelling, "Oi, Jamie, you in there?"

Jim assumed Jamie was Carl's brother, and he thought about whether he should respond or not. Putting on his best Londoner accent, Jim said "Yeah, won't be a moment."

The accent pulled off – Carl believed him. He heard him walk off, sighing in frustration. Placing the last tubs of facial creams and make-up back into the bathroom cupboard, Jim looked around and spotted the bathroom window, which was sitting above the toilet. Opening it, he stood on the toilet basin and climbed out, surprisingly finding it quite a struggle. He managed to graze his cheek on a bush of thorns when he landed on the floor, and it was stinging. A lot.

He was in the back garden now, which was hardly as well looked after as the front garden was. Climbing over the fence and landing on the other side a little softer this time, he picked up the bag he had abandoned and ran all the way back to his own home, a smile creeping on his face. _This is so easy. Now all I have to do is find the poison._

As he thought about this, however, his face fell, and the pain in his cheek was still strong. This was the harder part – because where on the face of the earth was a fifteen year old school kid going to get botulism from?


	5. Carl

Chapter Five! I liek. c; Thanks to the reviewers, by the way, ILY ALL

* * *

12:25am. The Moriarty household was silent. Jim's parents had been asleep for a while now; but the boy hadn't left, not until he was certain he wouldn't wake them up. Jim was determined not to let anything go wrong – he had to get the bacteria into the medication tonight, otherwise his carefully thought out plan simply wouldn't work.

Jim Moriarty hated it when things went wrong.

The boy had managed to fool his parents into letting him use the computer, telling them he had to do some research on botulinum toxin for his Science classes, and the library didn't supply any books on the topic. He spent half the time researching on the effects, and looked on Google Maps for any nearby labs or hospitals where he could grab a sample. It was lucky that there was a lab in central London that had exactly what he needed.

Jim didn't like public transport, but he didn't want to walk such a long distance. There were a lot of drunk and crazy people on the bus he took, so he didn't hesitate to sit right at the back beside the window so he wasn't disturbed. Instead, he observed London.

Boring.

Taking two buses was a pain in the ass for him, but luckily the second bus was much quieter and calmer. Jim was greeted merrily by an old man who was sitting nearer the front, and Jim just smiled back, wondering if the stranger said that to everybody.

As Jim silently approached the lab, he saw a few workers leaving the building, and spotted one of the men slipping his wallet into his back pocket. Accessing the building required an employee card, and there was no doubt the man had just placed his back into his wallet. Jim approached the man from behind, quickly reaching his hand into his back pocket and pulling out the wallet. The worker stopped, as if he had felt something odd, but Jim was already running as fast as he could to hide and gain his composure before breaking into the building.

The name of the employee he had just pickpocketed was Peter Smith. Fairly common name. Fairly _boring_ name, too. As Jim had predicted, he had put his card into his wallet, which made thing a lot easier.

The building was silent. Jim thought he heard footsteps somewhere distant, but he couldn't be sure – perhaps it was just his imagination.

The place was large, and it took a little bit of time to find the lab he wanted. 'Disease and bacteria department', it said on the front door. It required use of the employee card again; and as Jim swiped it on the card reader, but message startled him unexpectedly.

_Employee not authorised to enter department._

Jim was in trouble now. He tried it again, but the same message just kept on appearing, and he finally settled to the conclusion that Peter did not work in this department and was not allowed to access it by himself.

How the hell was he going to get in?

There was no lock to pick. There was no code he could type in. Just the bloody card reader that wouldn't register his bloody card.

Jim peered over the window at the top of the door to see what was in the room, and saw the back of a head. "Shit," he muttered, dashing to the side as the woman opened the door. Looking around – and missing Jim completely – she frowned, and then walked in the opposite direction.

The door was just about to shut, but Jim ran to push it open and enter the room. Thankfully. He turned on the lights, and they flickered before lighting the room fully. It was neat and organised, and there were drawers with labels of samples of bacterium, A-Z. Narrowing his eyes, Jim approached the C draw, and flicked through each folder until he found clostridium botulinum.

He'd read about it once – it was a bacterium that caused botulinum toxin under aerobic conditions. It was undetectable, which was perfect for his plan – he would deceive everybody, something that would fool the police into thinking one thing when it wasn't true. He'd always wanted to use this, and this was his chance.

Jim took out the folder and grabbed a pair of rubber gloves, slipping them on and taking out the sample of the bacterium sitting in the agar plate, and he brought out the eczema cream and placed it upon a sheet of paper.

It was fiddly, placing it into the medication, but he did it. He kept on hearing things and had to stop, just for a second, but thankfully nothing happened. He was careful not to inhale anything, careful not to touch anything, until he had washed the equipment thoroughly, washed his hands completely and made sure he was hygienic during the whole process.

Feeling extremely proud of himself, he shut the tub tight so no air could get in, placed it in a plastic bag and made his way back home, his mind helplessly lost in the events that were going to occur that afternoon.

* * *

"Go on, Carl!"

Jim didn't say anything, waiting for the reaction to happen.

Any time now.

The screams of "Carl!" turned into "Carl?", and Jim did nothing but smile.

_Two points to Jim. Jim – 2. The rest of the world – 0._

Jim exchanged the tub Carl had brought with him with the poisoned one when the stupid bully wasn't watching, and nobody noticed Jim. It was the London school championships and Carl was representing his class – typical, really, because he was the best swimmer in the class. Always had been.

Everybody thought he had forgotten to breathe, but Jim knew he was just going to tilt his head to the side to breathe in the air, before the medication had an effect on him. It was perfect timing – nobody had their suspicious, and yet again Jim Moriarty was going to get off scot-free. He knew what he was doing.

He was never going to get caught.

As everybody got up to crowd around the lifeguards who were pulling the dead boy out, gasping in horror – some of them had even started crying – Jim made his narrow escape, back into the changing rooms and opening Carl's locker.

The first thing he saw was his shoes.

Carl's shoes. They were expensive, Jim could tell. And he loved them. He wore them every day, and hated to take them off for any sort of exercise in drama classes and PE, always refusing. Jim grinned, taking both shoes and shutting the locker again. _I'll take them to confuse the police_, he said. _But they're so stupid they probably won't notice their disappearance._

Placing them into his rucksack, he walked out of the leisure centre without anybody noticing him. They were too busy with the sudden death of Carl Powers. They'd assume he'd drowned, that it was an accident and nothing could have been done to prevent it. He had just forgotten to breathe.

They'd never suspect fifteen year old Jim Moriarty to be the killer.

There was only one person who stood in the way.


	6. Shoes

hrrrrnnnngggghhhh. I spent like ages on this even though it's not that long. D; hmm hope you like.

* * *

"Listen to me, his shoes –"

"We know, little boy."

"I have a _name_, will you listen –"

"_Sherlock_, then." The police officer was now looking very impatient at this point. "We've looked into the case thoroughly and there's nothing."

"But why would his shoes just _go_ –"

"We are fully aware of that and working on it at the moment. Now if you would excuse me."

"Just listen, I didn't come over here for nothing –"

The police officer looked down at the persistent boy with a patronising smile and said, "Maybe when you're older, kiddo."

Jim could see the frustration knitted across Sherlock's face as the stubborn officer walked off back to what he was doing. Jim couldn't help but be interested by this boy – he looked no older than sixteen, but there was a tone to his voice that made him sound much older than his appearance. It was an odd name, _Sherlock_, a name that you wouldn't hear very often.

Jim remained calm as Sherlock spotted him sitting by the oak tree, watching and listening to everything happening. Sherlock was now approaching him, the frustration fading in his face, and he stood over Jim with his arms folded over his chest. Much taller than Jim had thought. He was skinny and pretty and his eyes were the strangest of colours.

"You were listening." Not a question – a statement.

"Yes," Jim said, the corner of his lips turning upwards. "I agree. Pretty random the dude's pair of shoes went missing, huh?"

Sherlock's eyebrows raised in surprise. Jim had to resist the urge to let his smile grow, so he just shrugged as if it were perfectly normal. "I mean, please. Somebody forgot to breathe? What kind of lame explanation is that?"

The boy with the strange eye's studied Jim for a small moment before holding out his hand. "Sherlock Holmes," he introduced, and Jim took his hand, thinking about his response. He wasn't going to introduce himself properly, oh no. That would be a silly thing to do. Already Jim was forming the ideas of what to do with Sherlock Holmes – what game to play with him. Because he had finally found a smart person in this bloody city. Finally, somebody who could reach to Jim's standards.

"James," he said after thinking about it, shaking his hand. It wasn't a lie. James was the actual birth name of Jim, but nobody ever called him that – in fact, the only people who knew that it was his real name were his parents and his local GP.

"I've always wanted to be a detective," Sherlock Holmes explained. "I can tell just by looking at you that you have an elder brother who you don't see anymore, probably because he's gone to university. Your parents don't pay much attention to you, you don't have many friends and you've cut yourself quite recently."

Jim laughed. "And you got all of that by looking at my clothing, which are hand-me-downs, the sort of clothes you would get a couple of years ago, therefore assuming that they're from a brother who handed it just before going off to university. Since the parents haven't bought new clothes they couldn't be bothered to get ones specifically for me, coming to the conclusion that the folks don't pay much attention. It's a Saturday afternoon; any normal person would be out with their friends, except I'm not." He stopped, looking down at his sleeve. "And there's a blood stain on my arm, telling you that I've cut myself." _Why did I not see that?_

Sherlock was impressed. 'James' was the first person to see past his method of deduction. Maybe they were going to turn out to be friends.

Sherlock did not have friends.

Neither did Jim.

Jim stood up, shaking off the dirt he got onto his trousers and looking up at Sherlock. "Well," he said. "Better be off then." He didn't ask for a phone number, or an address, or an e-mail – Jim just walked away, deep in thought about what – considering if he ever came across Sherlock Holmes again – he was going to do to the hopeful detective. Oh, this was fun, this little game Jim was playing with the world. He wasn't going to stop until a very, very long time.

He had to be careful, however. If he killed all the people he hated at once it would make things just a little bit obvious for Scotland Yard that the killer was targeting the school, or that he was an attendee of the place. Jim had made a vow to himself – to never be caught.

The boy didn't know if he was just unlucky, however, because when he got home his mother looked angry.

"Where have you been?" She said. It surprised him that she actually spoke for once – was it an odd thing to forget your own mother's voice? It was soft, quiet, but the anger in her tone still made it prominent and threatening.

"Toilet," he said nonchalantly.

"_Half an hour_?"

He shrugged, not sure how to respond, until she finally overcame her anger and then glanced back at Jim with a certain curiosity. "Jim?"

"Yes?"

"Why are Carl Powers' shoes in your bedroom?"

Jim swore his heart stopped beating for that split second in which his mother questioned him. Acting perfectly cool on the outside to not give anything away, he just said, "What?" pretending not to have known what she was talking about.

"Carl Powers. Shoes. Bedroom."

_Since when have you started looking through my bedroom?_ He asked in his mind. "Oh," he said, chuckling a little. "Those aren't his. My friend gave the exact same pair to me and wrote in Carl's name in pen as a joke." The lie was easy, carefree, and even though it was a stupid excuse, his mother fell for it. Jim silently thanked god that he was a good liar. He wasn't going to be caught out by his own mother.

Jim's mother said nothing more to him, going back to her ordinary silent self that the teenager was used to seeing. He needed to get a better hiding place, because if the woman started looking through his room regularly he was in big trouble. Since when, anyway? Lauren Moriarty didn't take interest in Jim's life. She never did.

Nobody ever did.

A little frustrated, Jim dunked Carl's shoes into an old school bag he never used and hid it behind a row of old boxes that were sitting forgotten underneath his bed_. __Don't ever get found again_, he told them, especially_ by my parents._

_

* * *

_

Two months later two more students were killed. Jim hated Astha Kaur for being a spoiled brat, the girl who used to play practical jokes on him for the hell of it. She had the biggest mouth _ever_ and had to sit behind Jim in History, in which she usually poked him and laughed so much Jim wished he could turn around and punch her in her horse-like face. He thought it would be fun to poison her school meal, and she died in front of all her precious little friends.

_Jim – 3. The rest of the world – 0._

He then targeted Robert Davies, who was the best friend of Carl. He decided to make it a little bit more mysterious – a disappearance. Jim liked that.

Robert had not told anybody of the anonymous threats he was receiving via text message – he was too scared, too weak to confine in anybody. It went on for weeks until the anonymous person forced Robert to arrive at a small park located further in the west of London. As the terrified boy waited for his anonymous rival, a plastic bag was placed onto his head and was suffocated until he died. The murderer had dumped his body into the Thames, and he was not found until five months later. By that time everybody had forgotten he was gone.

_Jim – 4. The rest of the world – 0._

The killer rested after the disappearance of Robert Davies. He reckoned he would strike back when everybody had forgotten about their friends' sudden deaths, and it would probably confuse Scotland Yard even more. But there was one boy who knew that these weren't coincidences, the one boy who fascinated Jim with his powers of deduction and ability.

Sherlock Holmes.

Oh, yes, he was brilliant. After one meeting Jim could already see that. Any fool could. He had a great mind, he did, but there was one small thing that kept Jim going, that kept Jim smiling.

Sherlock Holmes hadn't seen past his disguise.


	7. Alisha

okay so I was in the shower when I had the craziest idea for this story, and I was DESPERATE to execute it so I finished this part like now. Expect like 3 chapters from me tomorrow. xD Sorry if Jim's a bit OOC, but eh, I tried. D; also, warning, there's a bit of naughty language and mentioned rape, but nothing too serious.

**If anybody want's to give me critique, GIVE IT TO ME. I'm always eager to improve my writing and if there's anything that I can improve on I would like input. You can come right out at me and tell me that you don't like it, I'll be happy with anything. :) Thanks guys.**

* * *

"So, Jim," the boy's father said over the dinner table, "what would you like for your birthday?"

Jim's birthday. He'd forgotten it was next week. There were too many things on his minds to be focusing on such a pointless celebration like a birthday. So you lived another year of your life. So what? Does that make you a saint? Jim always hated birthdays, no matter how many presents he got from his parents.

But he'd already made up his mind. "I'd like a laptop, please."

Jim spotted his mother frowning from the corner of his eyes but he did not react. His father simply replied with a, "Alright, son," and silence settled upon the three of them again.

As Jim had hoped, he received a laptop on the day of his birthday. He set up his own account, fiddling with the settings and just testing out in general what the laptop was like. It was pretty good, and had a lot of privacy settings he could enable so nobody could see what he was doing.

Jim set up a personal e-mail account and just browsed through the internet, looking up different forums and reading people's problems and issues which they had so easily published upon the internet. There were so many people who were tormented and bullied and teased, just like Jim had been before – so many people who needed help getting rid of that certain person who ruined their life.

Maybe Jim could help.

* * *

_Hi Jim,_

_I've recently been frequenting on one of the Life Issues forums on the web, considering my current situation, and I was talking to a good friend of mine whom I met upon the forum who recommended you to me. Apparently you're a good helper. A couple of months ago I befriended a new student from college and he seemed really nice. His name's Percy Bates and we're in the same class for English. He seemed a bit odd and out of place at first, and since I'm usually the nice person I thought I should have just made friends with him until he found his own little clique. _

_So after a while we started to get to know each other more, calling each other every day and talking on the phone for hours even though we should have been doing coursework, late night texting, hell, even a few poking wars on Facebook. It started to get to the point where it became obvious that Percy didn't just think of me as a friend, and there was even a small situation when he introduced me to another one of his old school friends as his girlfriend. I felt uncomfortable but didn't say anything, worried I was going to hurt his feelings or something of the like._

_It was one night when we were both free that we decided to go off to the pub just for a few drinks. I honestly wasn't planning to stay more than an hour. We ended up staying for two hours, and he was incredibly drunk. He insisted __on going somewhere more peaceful, and I tried to refuse, I really fucking did but he just kept on persuading me, irritating me so much I finally gave it. I intended on leaving him there, but he started to make me feel _really_ uncomfortable, touching me in p__laces that weren't meant to be touched. Bloody hell. I don't want to write this, but I think you can get the picture of what happened that damn night._

_He's threatened he's going to kill me if I told anybody, so I kept my trap shut, and he's done it again since the first time. I'm too weak to fight him off and I hate that. I thought he was nice. God. Sometimes I just feel like I get everything wrong. I'm terrified he's going to do it again – I have bruises on my arm and back that I have to hide from my roommate so she doesn't question. He acts perfectly normal around me when we're in public but when we're alone it's just a whole different story._

_Please, at least have the decency to give me just a little bit of advice. Just get rid of him, anything would work, I wouldn't even mind if you just killed him. _

_All the best,_

_Alisha_

* * *

_Hello Alisha,_

_Before I jump into anything, can I ask you who recommended me to you, just in case I need it for future use?_

_I'd be happy to help, and I'm sorry about the situation you've been dealing with. It's a good thing you haven't told anybody about it apart from me, considering that I wouldn't be much use pulling off the idea I had if there were suspicious people out there._

_Looking at your account on Percy he seems like a hard guy to fight off, and I wouldn't be much use of a threat considering that you're most likely older than I am. I'd say kill him off, and you've stated that you have no problem with a deed which is considered so horrendous like murder so I don't see the problem of moving on with the idea. A subtle and surreptitious approach would be best to cut off the public's input. _

_It's up to you how you want to pull it off, and if you want to be paid a sufficient amount of money to perform the act I would be more than happy to hand over any cash I can supply. I was rooted to more of less obvious murder i.e. suffocation, poison, drowning, etc. and then proceed to hide the body so the police will have to find Percy before settling on method of death. _

_I'll send you the details when you've replied back to me and settled on a scheme. _

_Jim :)_

_P.S. It would be a good idea to delete all the messages sent and received to and from me after they are not needed._

* * *

_Hey Jim,_

_Thank you so much for replying! I was having my doubts and when I checked my e-mail this morning I was over the moon to find you had responded. I'm afraid I can't tell you since the person specifically told me not to tell who she was._

_I really don't want to be paid for doing something of my own benefit, so please refrain from giving me any sum of money, I'd feel really guilty. It's really nice of you to offer, though, thank you. I'd be happy to pull off any sort of stunt to get rid of this darn guy, he tried to invite me round to his place last night but thankfully I had my roommate to back me up saying that I had a whole load of coursework to do._

_I always thought drowning somebody was an interesting way to die. Sorry if that sounded sick, but it's true. I dunno, it must be really horrible too. Holding your breath until you can't take it any more…_

_I vote death by drowning, then._

_Thanks again! I really appreciate your help. It's just been rough for me with studies on my mind all the bloody time, and then Percy just has to ruin everything. :\ Haha, it feels a bit odd confiding in a complete stranger, but it's made me feel better, really, just knowing that somebody else is aware. _

_Alisha_

* * *

_Hi Alisha,_

_Well, at least you told me this person was a she. ;)_

_Drowning it is, then. I don't think you're sick. Everybody has those thoughts some point during their life, and believe me; I've wanted to kill a lot of people for their sheer stupidity and, well, general existence._

_I propose the following method of execution:_

_Ask him if he wants to go to the pub casually, telling him that you were stupid and you always felt for him romantically and sexually. Get him drunk again. Ask for a walk by the closest river/reservoir/lake you can find – if the pub you usually attend is not nearby any of the above listed, try and find a bar that is suitable yet nearby a large water source – and while chatting merrily to him push him in, making it as quiet and unnoticeable possible. It would be best to take some sort of rope with you that you could tie around his neck, and as he falls in the rope would tighten, making him automatically obedient to everything you do to that rope. _

_However, if you have your own ideas and/or want to twist around my plan, feel free to do so. I am glad to be of service, but please _permanently_ delete all the emails you have sent to me and all the emails you have received from me, as I will do the same for yours. The whole plot would be rather pointless if they were to look through our emails and find we were indeed the culprits._

_Hope to hear from you soon!_

_Jim_

* * *

_Jim,_

_Thank you thank you thank you. Thank you. You've been awesome. It worked, I followed everything you wanted me to do and it worked, and his dead body is now sitting in a rather large river. He's out of my life forever and I don't ever have to put up with his crap again. You should have seen his face when I deceived him into thinking that I actually fancied him – he looked genuinely surprised, but told me that he was always the one for me! I wanted to laugh._

_I can now focus on what's actually important in my life, and it's all because of you. God, I don't know how to thank you. I should pay you, but I'm in so much debt right now, it's unaffordable. Sorry. I can't thank you enough! Even though I don't know who you are, you're still awesome and if I'm ever involved in a similar sort of shit that Percy put me in I'm going straight to you!_

_Thank you!_

_Alisha x_

* * *

The body of Percy Bates was found three months later.


	8. Anonymous

pffft this one's crap but idk. Dx I'll make the next one longer and better.

* * *

More and more emails asking Jim for help were coming in, and the anonymous recommender seemed to be enjoying it. As far as the boy was concerned he didn't know any girls that were of interest. He asked every person who emailed him with their problems who had recommended Jim, but they all told him the same thing – _I can't say anything._

It was starting to bug him a lot now, and he was eager to find out who it was. And there was no doubt that this mysterious 'she' had talked to Georgina – because why else would the dead girl have come to Jim specifically for help? It remained a mystery to Jim and he was itching to find out.

It didn't take long, however, until he received an email.

_To: _

_From: unknown_

_Subject: Hi!~_

_It's been fun, watching you. You're a smart kid. Smarter than me even, haha. It bothers me though you can't remember me, I recall on having great times with you and I would've thought my identity would've been pretty obvious~ ah well, we all have our weak spots, I suppose! Seems you've found a rival, Sherlock Holmes, huh? I spy on him some of the time, too, and he's pretty darn clever as well, although I dare not say that he's cleverer than you, Jimmy dear. I hope to be speaking face to face to you soon, although it is pretty fun sitting here behind the shadows and observing everything. It's better than getting into the crap yourself~_

_Love your anonymous stalker ;)_

So Jim knew who this person was. He racked his brain for ideas, looking in all the dark spots to see if he could find the answer anywhere. No luck. He'd probably just forgotten and it would come to him later; hopefully.

He remembered waking up somewhere unfamiliar, the aura of perfume dancing about in the air, feeling sleepy and groggy. A familiar voice rang through the air as he shut his eyes again, wanting to sleep forever more.

"Oh Jiiiiim!~" she sang as he fell back into unconsciousness.


	9. An old friend

hrrnnngghhh chapter nine.

* * *

"Wake up," the girl whispered in Jim's ear. "You've slept for a whole day."

"Piss off."

She giggled. "You wish. You're cute when you sleep."

"Piss _off_."

Rolling her eyes, she turned on her side, facing away from Jim who was waking up from his slumber. "Lovely way to greet an old friend."

Jim sat up, irritated by what she had just said. "I am not your _friend_, and you're most _definitely_ not mine."

"Oh, please," she said, rolling over again so she was now looking at Jim properly. There was a moment of silence as their eyes locked with one another's for the first time in months – in fact, Jim was sure they hadn't seen each other in years. "I may not be a _friend_, but I'm definitely _something_ to you."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "You seem really convinced that I fancy you."

She giggled, her voice light-hearted and sweet. "That's because you _do_." And Molly Moran leant over and pressed her lips against Jim's.

He stopped for a moment, a little unsure how to react – he didn't know if he liked the feeling or not, because he couldn't lie about the fact that Molly was an incredibly good kisser - before he pushed her away in disgust. "Do _not_ do that. Where am I?"

She didn't let go of him, however, and let her hands wander over his chest. _God_, Jim thought, _this is why I don't like her. She's too… fierce. Too difficult._

"We're somewhere," she said, smiling a little. "I thought I might take charge for once. It's always you, isn't it? It's always you who leads our little _games_."

And Molly was right, in a way; Jim never liked to be the secondary character, the follower, the adherent. It was in his nature to be the head and the person in charge. Molly and Jim used to play a lot of games, back when they were only children and carefree and it was always expected that Jim lead. Molly never interfered.

She didn't like to get her hands dirty, let's say.

Jim smiled. "Well, _Molly_," he said, taking the hand that was on his chest and putting it down on the bed, "it was never normal for you to take charge."

She raised her eyebrows. "You think I'm _weak_?"

"I didn't say that." He grinned, starting to get a little playful now.

"It's not a matter of speaking," she pointed out. "I asked if you _thought_ I was weak."

"Okay, yeah, I _think_ you're weak."

But he doubted his own words. It had been a long time since they had seen each other, and she had changed quite a lot, and pretty much the only thing that he recognised was her eyes. Her hair was a darker shade of blonde and she had grown thinner, so thin that her cheekbones were distinct. The girl looked tired, as if she hadn't slept in days, but there was a shine to her face that told Jim that she'd grown stronger – that she wasn't the little Molly Moran who he used to play games with.

"You forgot about me," she said quietly, "didn't you?"

"No," he replied. "You just didn't come across my mind."

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to."

Molly smiled. "You know, I've been thinking about you. And me. And –"

Jim made a small _pfft_ noise, saying "Molly, Molly, Molly. Stop trying. I don't want to be your boyfriend or partner or whatever the hell you want me to be."

She sighed. "It's never going to work."

The smile reappeared on Jim's face, and he looked at her, his eyes dancing. "You know the way I perceive the world, Mols."

She said the words with disgust. "A game."

He shut his eyes, leaning his head against the bedframe and exhaling. There was silence between the two of them as they thought about the world they lived in – for Molly, how everything was unfair, and for Jim – well, how much he hated everybody, really. Revenge.

They both liked revenge.

"You drugged me, didn't you?" Jim said, interrupting the silence. "I'm still feeling sleepy."

"You're too easy," she giggled. "Getting into your house wasn't complicated, and I saw a glass of water standing beside your bed so I just put the sleeping pills in them and when you took a sip during the night when you had woken up."

"Where's Molly and what have you done with her?"

Molly giggled again. "I've always been a bit _odd_. I just never liked to show it."

She got up, and Jim eyed what she was wearing – a flowery and silky dressing gown. He frowned, not quite sure what she was implying, and turned away to study the rest of the room. It was sophisticated and pretty, with pale purple walls and leather white sofas. It must've cost a lot – if Jim's theories were correct and they were in fact in a hotel room.

"So," Molly said, as she opened one of the drawers in a white coated desk and pulled out a mobile, flicking through it. "Sherlock Holmes, huh?"

"There's a whole new game with Sherlock," he said, watching her browse through her messages. "Different rules. Different levels."

She glanced up and their eyes locked for a moment before her lips turned upwards. "Oh yeah? And how long is it going to take to set up?"

Jim got up approaching Molly from behind and placing both his hands on her hips. He looked over her shoulder and with one hand grabbed the phone swiftly, and quickly made his way to the bathroom. "A very long time," he said, imagining the expression on Molly's face as he shut the door behind him.

* * *

pfft. I always thought Molly actually turning out to be Moran would be AWESOME. This little chapter is sort of based off that scene in the 2009 Sherlock Holmes film with Holmes and Adler, because I kind of liked that scene. ;c anyway. reviews!


	10. Meetings

hrrnnggghh I might not update everyday anymore thanks to bloody school. ;c I won't forget, though. Chapter ten!

also, I just read through this and realised I repeat words so damn much. ;C I suck lolol.

* * *

They had known each other ever since they were ten. The first time they met was in Ipswich, when Jim's mother and father had decided to take a holiday because of Jim's brother's acceptance to a specific university. Jim was sitting outside on a bench that was perched right outside the house they were occupying at that time, swinging his legs cheerfully and observing the surroundings. It was a sunny and beautiful day, and he could even hear the birds chirping from up above in the trees.

A young, pretty looking girl was walking past, and when she spotted Jim she moved towards him with caution, uncertain of what his intentions were.

"Hello," she said.

"Hi." Jim tilted his head to one side, scrutinizing what the girl wore and her general attitude. She seemed quite shy and quiet on the outside, and her long, pale blonde hair was tied back into one long pony tail. Those eyes were large, dark and sweet looking – it was one of the first things he noticed. "Who are you?"

"Mary," she said confidently, as if her name was special and something to be proud of. "Mary Moran, but everybody calls me Molly. What's your name?"

"James Moriarty." Jim stopped for a second, because he hadn't told anybody that was his actual name, and quickly added, "But call me Jim."

"I haven't seen you around before." Molly narrowed her eyes, taking her turn to observe Jim. He was small, dark haired and dark eyed, and from his accent she could easy say he was Irish. There was something about his face that was different, however, something that wasn't quite normal. It would stand out from a crowd if he was placed in one.

"I'm on holiday," he said. "Do you live here?"

She paused for a moment, hesitant to reply. "Sort of," she said, and sat down beside him. "Do you come from Ireland?"

Jim nodded. "How can you sort of live somewhere?"

Molly's cheeks turned a little red, as if she were embarrassed to tell him what she meant. "They told me my parents were gone and I have to live with other people who I don't know properly. There are lots of other children there too, and it's fun sometimes." She paused. "They're coming back, though, my parents, and we'll live like we used to."

Jim frowned. "Oh."

"Do you have a brother, Jim? I have one. When they said my parents were gone they told me he went with them. I never knew him because he was still in my mummy's tummy but he sounded like a very nice person. I can't wait to meet him when Mummy and Daddy come to pick me up."

Jim was starting to doubt what Molly was saying to him; as if there was a deeper meaning to the words she spoke. She seemed a little clueless and naïve, but he didn't question her, scared he was going to hurt Molly's feelings.

"I have an older brother," Jim said instead. "I don't like him very much, though."

Molly sounded shocked. "Why not?"

He shrugged. "He's a bit annoying. Like, he pokes me a lot." He demonstrated by giving the girl a poke in the arm, in which she squealed and gave him a light punch back. They got into a small play fight which ended in Jim tickling Molly until she couldn't breathe. He grinned as he pulled away from her.

"I had better go," Molly said, waving as she walked away. "See you later, Jim!"

* * *

The second time they met was the second week of which Jim had moved to London, two years later. He had started his new school – and positively hated it already – and was walking home on a chilly November evening when he bumped straight into the innocent little girl he had met one summer's afternoon.

"I know you…" the tone in her voice indicated she had grown up from when they last met – she was just a little more mature, even if she looked pretty much the same save for the chubbiness having been outgrown. "You're Jim! That guy I met two years ago in Ipswich!"

It was all of a sudden tears were welling up in her eyes.

"Whoa, hold up. What's wrong?" The concern in his voice came naturally, considering he had never met a person who had burst into tears at the sight of him.

"They're dead," she said. "I'm so stupid; I thought they were _gone_, like they were on freaking holiday or something, who was I kidding? My mum was pregnant with my brother when they had died, and I was so upset about it all I just ran away from that damned children's home, oh lord, sorry…" she wiped the tears from her eyes furiously, and Jim didn't know what to do. He wasn't used to these situations.

"Where are you living?"

Molly shrugged hopelessly. "Everywhere. Nowhere. I dunno. I nicked some money off a few people but I used most of it up for the train journey and food. I can't afford a hotel room."

He had no idea why he had said it, but Jim offered, "You can stay with me, if you want."

As soon as it blurted out of his mouth a million doubts flew straight into his mind. _What are you doing, Jim__? Your parents won't let you have anybody over for any period of time, let alone maybe a couple of weeks. __Especially a girl._

"Seriously?" Her face suddenly lit up with the same happiness he saw those two years ago. "Do you mind? I mean I'm a bit strange when it comes to habits and things, but will your parents care or not?"

He shrugged. "I don't think my parents will approve of it. But I suppose you can live in the attic; nobody ever goes up there."

Molly's arms flung round Jim's neck in a hug and it only made Jim feel even more uncomfortable. They'd only met once yet she was already hugging him – not to mention Jim wasn't exactly the biggest fan of the term _hugging_ either.

"What are you doing in London anyway?" She asked. "You said you lived in Ireland."

Jim raised his eyebrows as they both pulled away from the embrace. "Apparently parents like to ruin your life by making you move to shit places like here."

Molly giggled, but when Jim had said the word _parents_ he could tell that it broke her heart. She was fragile and even after that one meeting they had in Ipswich he didn't want her to face the pain of when she actually found out the truth. It was something nobody wanted to see somebody suffer with – especially not Molly Moran.

* * *

"No, no, you're doing it _wrong_." Jim snatched the pen off Molly and crossed out her little tank, drawing another one beside it. "The one you drew looked like a dalek."

She huffed, folding her arms. "Oh, _thanks_. It's not like yours is any better."

"Who are you kidding? Mine is brilliant." He then wrote _Jim's army_ above the setting they had just created with a marker pen. It was Molly's turn to snatch the pen away from Jim, in which she added _and Molly's_ above Jim's name.

"There we go," she said. When she glanced at Jim's expression, which clearly read as _no_Molly raised an eyebrow. "I did draw the continents and the big circle quite well."

"I drew all the people and the majority of the tanks and the explosions," he said. "Basically the majority of the thing."

"_Fine_," Molly spat, underlining Jim's name harshly, annoyed at his arrogance and general behaviour. Sure, she still adored him in the sense that he was funny and imaginative, and was kind enough to let her live here despite the fact that his parents would never let him. But then there were times when he was so egotistical and stupid and _infuriating_ that it drove Molly round the bend…

"I was just kidding, Mols," he teased, poking her in the arm lightly. "You know I love you really."

_I wonder if you _actually_ do_, she thought bitterly.

* * *

One day Molly Moran left without a warning. She left a note upon the small camp bed she slept in, and Jim picked it up with a frown on his face.

_I love you, and I don't care if you don't love me back, but I do. You're annoying as hell sometimes, but when you'__re nice I just freaking love you. I can't thank you enough for giving me a place to live, because when I arrived in London I was seriously regretting having run away from where I was safe. You just gave me hope again. It was fun, playing games with you, pondering about the world with __you and just generally being with you. Because you're amazing and I love you, but I have to leave. It won't be the last time I'll see you, oh no. I'll see you again, James Moriarty.__ Just you wait._


	11. Bosses

I took so long with this one! I blame school. And my laziness. And tumblr. Anyway. This one's short because I literally am flat out with inspiration and I can't do anything. Yeah. I'll try to update a little bit sooner with the next chapter. ;c

**hi miren and yiyun**

* * *

"Who's Kieran?" Jim glided out of the bathroom to find his accomplice lying on the floor with her eyes shut, humming something unfamiliar. He placed the phone back onto the table and nudged her slightly with his foot, causing her eyes to fly open automatically and glance at him with a frown upon her face.

"What?" Her voice was soft but Jim knew she had heard exactly what he had said. _Shy. Secretive. Hello again, Molly Moran_.

He did not answer, just smiled.

Molly sighed in frustration, giving in to Jim's rather hypnotising smile. "Fine, fine, but you're not allowed to tell anybody." There was a pause, and Jim cocked his head to one side patronisingly. "Do not tell _anybody_, Jim, he's going to kill me. He's sort of… well, he's sort of my boss."

The boy snorted. "Since when do feeble fourteen year old teenagers have bosses?"

She scowled. "I'm fifteen next week, _actually_." She ignored the sarcastic little hand gestures he was making as she spoke. "And there was one point that I was stealing so much that I almost got caught, and I met Kieran one night. He said he would hire me if I did a few tasks for him."

Jim raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Yeah? Tasks, huh? What kind?"

A small smile tugged at her lips as she put both her hands together in front of her chest in a prayer position and shut her eyes again. "Criminal work, mostly. It's quite great fun. That's how I found out you were still alive and existing; I was browsing through a couple of files and found yours. I couldn't help but start playing with you."

Oh, he was starting to like her now. Jim could do with somebody like her. "And what's the deal with him now? He sounded pretty angry in his last text."

A small giggle escaped from Molly but she quickly resumed her peaceful manner. "Well, I reckoned I didn't need him anymore and quit. I just haven't told him yet." Starting to hum again under her breath, she let her eyes open and glance over and Jim with playful eyes.

He leant against the table, folding his arms, genuinely interested in Molly's story. "And what are you going to do now?"

"Well, I've got you here," she said. "I was hoping to run off with you, start all over again as two ordinary people, I even have a name for myself, Molly Hooper… I've always wanted to use that name –"

"Whoa, whoa, Molly, hold up." Suddenly he wasn't so certain anymore. "Don't jump straight to things. I mean, I haven't –"

And he had an idea.

"How much money do you have?"

"What?"

He was starting to get impatient now. "How much money do you have on you?"

Molly sat up, stretching her arms and yawning, saying, "'bout 'undred pounds."

"Well, I suppose that's enough to go ahead with your plan." Her eyes brightened when he said this, but he shook his head to indicate he wasn't finished. "I was just thinking, I could only go with you if you would… hmm, how to put this. If you accepted my offer of becoming my apprentice, if you like."

She snapped her attention straight towards him, the surprise on her face written all across Molly's face. Opening her mouth to say something, something held her back and she narrowed her eyes. "You want to pay me?"

Jim smiled, knowing that it was going to come to this. "No money," he said, unfolding his arms and turning out his trouser pockets like they would do in films. "Maybe when I get some I'll think about it."

There was a moment of silence as Molly thought about the offer Jim had offered her; she would probably give the world just to be with the guy, and working for Jim didn't sound too boring. Plus, Kieran, her ex-boss, had gotten her into a lot of criminal work and she actually _liked_ it. And she knew Jim – he wasn't boring. It was going to be fun, if she accepted it.

"Okay," she said, attempting to sound nonchalant. His smile widened, and he grabbed her phone from off the table, reading the message she had received just a few minutes ago and chuckling. Another _where the hell are you?_ except with a few more swear words and more verbal abuse.

"First, we should get rid of your little _boss_." And Jim replied.

_I'm afraid your employee, Molly Mora__n, has taken up a new occupation __and therefore isn't working you for you any longer. Have a nice day._


	12. Three Years

well, uhh, this is sort of fluff, and it's really short. uhh. yeah. I like it though. and I'm in a really good mood so I might update like really soon. like later today or something. uhh. okay. enjoy.

* * *

Three years had passed. They were now adults, even though the relationship between the two hadn't changed; but deep down inside, poor Molly knew that she still loved him hopelessly, and perhaps this wouldn't change in the years to come.

She smiled as she passed Jim lying unconscious on the couch, knocked out from the amount of alcohol he had taken in the previous night. Molly had had her fair share of a drink and still managed to stay sober, and she only watched and smiled as he talked to her about problems and upcoming plans. There were no objections when he continued to pick up bottles of vodka, tossing the empty ones to the side.

Sitting upon the desk that was scattered with paper work and classified documents that Jim had disallowed Molly to even touch, she ran her fingers over each folder labelled neatly with either _Molly Moran_ or _Jim Moriarty_. Narrowing her eyes, she picked up one of Jim's confidential folders and opened it with her curiosity arising. The files were mainly his conformations on collecting varieties of different weapons from different dealers, and some of them surprised Molly. There were quite a few explosives that he had managed to smuggle as well as an L9A1 (**AN: **_**is**__** that a british browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?**_** xD**) and a couple other handguns. There were a couple of missing posters concerning Jim that he had found and ripped off, but those didn't unease her. Jim was probably long forgotten now.

When she reached the end she almost missed one small slip of paper. With interest, Molly pulled it out and turned it over in her hand, only to have nostalgia hit her. Hard. The same note she had written addressing Jim those six years ago; he'd kept it all this time. She didn't know what to make of it. Instead, she slipped the note into her trouser pocket, glancing over at the drunk adult just in case he had awoke and was watching her every move. Thankfully his eyes were still tightly shut, and the small smirk teased her lips again.

They had managed to rent a flat closer to south east London under the names of Molly Hooper and Jim Byrne. It was hard for them to act as brother and sister, considering their appearances looked nothing alike and they couldn't sound less the same. Molly insisted on pulling off as partners, but Jim wasn't exactly ecstatic about the idea; they spent a lot of time arguing before they finally settled on just flat mates.

Molly sighed, pushing Jim's folder away and picking her own up, assessing the task that he had laid upon her a couple of nights ago. It wasn't a particularly difficult one; find out the occupation of Sherlock Holmes. They had been keeping an eye on him for a while now, but never making any sort of move – Jim always said he was waiting, but for what Molly wasn't exactly certain – and it was about a month ago that they had lost track. It was no surprise – sometimes Jim was so useless and careless she had gotten used to it. Perhaps one day he would pick himself up again.

The joys of adulthood.

She heard a groan, and before Jim could wake up properly she scooped up the papers with each of her tasks written on and glided out of the room swiftly, not wanting to see him awake just yet. Grabbing her keys, sliding both her arms through her dark blue coat and adjusting the hat that sat on top of her head, she left the apartment and stepped outside into reality that Molly Moran had always despised.


	13. Face to Face

so I would tell you guys the story of how this chapter ended up here on but it's too complicated and long so I'll just leave it. but yeah. Took me a lot of struggle to type this up, hence the delay. actually i was just being lazy but whatever

also, I apologize in advance for any typos/grammatical errors, I did this in such a rush. ;c

* * *

The place in London that they lived in wasn't exactly five star quality. It was a rough area which was famous for its knife crimes and shootings that were seen almost every day on the television. Molly would have chosen a nicer place to live in, but the two of them couldn't afford anything more expensive.

Molly wasn't going anywhere specific; her hands were buried deep into her pockets and the MP3 player she owned (and shamelessly stolen) was plugged in and turned up at full volume. Sometimes, music was the only escape from the cruel reality she lived in.

She hated how Jim was so changeable. One moment he genuinely had some sort of interest in her – romantically, perhaps – but in just a few minutes he didn't care. It annoyed her to the point where she just felt like slapping him, but Jim was too sneaky, too hypnotic… she always fell into his traps.

She hated it. She hated _him_.

Molly wasn't paying attention to her surroundings when she bumped straight into a tall, lanky figure she did not recognize at first. The brief moment where she was close to the stranger she could smell his scent – it was a sweet, not exactly the aroma of men's cologne or deodorant, but more of a soapy smell mixed with something that she couldn't quite place her finger on. Molly liked it. She could've taken a piece of his clothing and sniffed the odour all day if she had the chance.

"Sorry," he murmured, getting out of the way to carry on with his walk. She didn't let him go too easily, however, and a small _wait!_ escaped from her lips unintentionally. Sherlock Holmes turned around, an impatient expression on his face.

Sherlock Holmes, the boy they had been tracking for 3 years. Finally. Face to face. _If only if __Jim__ was here_, she thought.

"Are… are you Sherlock Holmes?"

He looked surprised. "Yes," he said. "How do you know who I am?"

"Uhh…" she hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond to his inquiry. Luckily she had lived with Jim long enough to know a few excuses that she could put into play. "I was interested in a university and they mentioned you during an open day. I think you were doing one of the speeches."

Sherlock frowned for a moment, racking his brain for the memory. Must've deleted it. Sounds unimportant anyway. He shrugged, ready to turn around and walk away again before Molly pestered him with another question.

"Do you still go there, then?" She asked as casually as she could.

"Yes," he replied, as if the answer was obvious.

"Aren't you supposed to be there now? Or do you have a job? I'm really out of money and I'm unemployed, do you know of any places to work at?"

Sherlock had the thought of just leaving her in her desperation, but her eyes looked to kind to leave her be. "Uh… well I know of a hospital up in central London that is in need of employees. Do you know anything about medicine?"

It was lucky that Molly had taken her Biology GCSE's early before she ran off with Jim. It didn't really matter anyway; she could always fake her documents even if she hadn't.

Smiling a little, she said, "Yeah, I know a fair amount. Do you want to give me your number so, uhh, you can show me…?"

Sherlock looked a little uncertain but took out a piece of scrap paper in his pocket and a pen, scribbling down his number in an untidy scrawl. She watched him patiently, studying the way he held the pen against his paper

Molly could've screamed when he had handed her his number and walked away in silence. She couldn't imagine Jim's reaction and was almost ecstatic to see him.

She clutched tight on the paper as she walked away.

* * *

"Fifty? You said it was twenty –"

"I know what I said," Yiyun said bitterly, scowling at Molly's confused expression. "Fifty or you get nothing."

"But –"

"I could ask you to leave anytime, you know."

"Okay, okay!" Molly slammed down the papers on Yiyun's neatly organised desk, giving in to her resentment. According to Jim, Yiyun Lee was one of the loveliest dealers he'd ever come across – yet she was horrible towards Molly, always increasing prices for weapons and drugs when she was around.

"I'll come back later," Molly complained, pushing the papers into Yiyun and walked off in frustration.

"I hope you never come back," Yiyun murmured, as Molly stalked off, a patronising smirk crossing her face as she dumped the documents into the bin.

As Molly walked out of the flat that the regular dealer owned and worked in, something tugged at her arm from behind a bush that perched in her front garden. She was ready to whack the _thing_ round its head before she saw who it was.

"Get over there," Jim said, pointing over to a tree further away from the bush he was hiding behind. Molly was prepared to tell him about her unexpected meeting with Sherlock Holmes she had encountered earlier on in the day, but she left it for later when she saw the determination in Jim's face.

"What are you doing?" she hissed as she crouched down with him. He smiled, reaching for his pocket in silence and pressing something that caused one of the most beautiful things Molly had seen in her life.

She didn't know if it made her mental, but the explosion she witnessed was really quite stunning. It was sudden and unexpected, and maybe that was one of the things she enjoyed about it. Everything exploded and fell apart, large pieces soaring in the sky, and the faint cries of help coming from inside. The colour was a vibrant orange, spectacular. Molly's favourite colour had always been orange. Orange was the colour of fire.

Fire fascinated Molly Moran.

The explosion still left Molly confused; however, as they both got up and left the scene. "I thought you liked Yiyun though. You said it a lot."

Jim's smile grew wider as he replied, putting an arm around Molly's waist, "Nobody dislikes my Molly Moran."


	14. Fine

okay chapter fourteen go go go

also a shout out to Plate Captain can I just say that I love you even though I've already like told you that yeah and I'll post up that Amy/Amy fic even though you've already read it so you can flood me with reviews and stuff because that would be nice

/okay I'll just shut up now

/sorry for the shortness of this chapter

/i'll make the next one longer

/okay i'll just stop now

* * *

Jim's reaction was an odd one.

Molly had sat down with him that night and described what had happened when she was having her stroll – he listened in silence with the tip of his fingers pressed together gently. She could imagine the mechanics in his brain, rotating and working complexly.

"So… uh… yeah." She had finished her little account on her meeting with Sherlock Holmes, the aspiring detective, and Jim's eyes did not change; they just stared at her, sharper than ever before. Molly waited patiently, wondering what he was going to say next.

"Where is it?" He finally asked after three minutes of tense silence. Jim's voice was soft, quiet.

"What?"

"Where's the slip of paper?"

Molly took it out of her pocket in silence and pressed it into the hand he had held out. He scanned the numbers thoughtfully, and all of a sudden stood up, walked over to the bin that sat in the corner of the room and threw the paper in.

"What the fu – why did you do that?" Molly exclaimed, feeling slightly crossed that he had just gone and thrown away her efforts. He turned around to face her, smiling just a little.

"I could have got his number anywhere," he said smugly. "No no no, I've known for a while he's been visiting St Bartholomew's hospital, I didn't need you to help." He paused, studying the shock on Molly's face. "Although, thanks for trying." It didn't sound genuine, like he actually appreciated it, however.

She didn't respond, slumping in her seat, a little confused and a little offended by his bitter comments. It wasn't the first time but she would've thought he would have grown up by now.

Molly scoffed at her thoughts. Jim? Grown up? That was a bit too much to expect. He was as childish as a five year old - even with such an intricate and brilliant mind - and that probably wasn't going to change in the years to come.

He did not say anything more, and left the sitting room to go outside on the little balcony they owned, giving them a rather large view of the area they occupied. Sure, it wasn't as pretty as the sights seen in central London, but it was definitely something to be appreciative of. He leant against the barrier casually, his eyes scanning the busy day thoughtfully.

Boring.

Jim was always bored, and there was no antidote. He thought maybe killing off people would help, but it only made him even more entertained. It bothered him a lot, and from time to time he thought about whether he would be the one lying dead one day.

* * *

"Get the job."

Molly switched off the hairdryer, unable to hear him over the noise. "Pardon?"

"Get the job?"

For a moment she had literally no idea what he was talking about, and turned to look at him with a blank expression. "Uh… what?"

Jim sighed, getting impatient with her constant ability to not keep up. "Bart's hospital. Job. Apply for it."

Molly put the hairdryer down, folding her arms and staring straight at him. Typically he wasn't paying attention, typing away at his laptop speedily. Probably replying to one of his _help me_ e-mails – consulting criminal, he liked to call himself. Molly never knew what to think of it, but she admired him for it. Sort of.

"And why now?"

"I thought you always wanted to be a doctor," he said, finishing the sentence he was typing and looking up with one of his famous smug grins. Molly scowled.

"That's not my point," she said. "I met with Sherlock Holmes four months ago, Jim. Why now?"

He didn't stir or hesitate to her question, but looked back to his computer screen and answered causally, "I'm not telling you to get the job because of him. I want you to get it for your own benefit. Why are you always depending on me?" His smile grew wider.

She still wasn't convinced. Molly was used to Jim taking control of her life but there were just some things she wasn't happy with – this was one of the moments where she just wasn't satisfied with his superior smiles and snide comments.

_I guess I'm paying the price for accepting to be his 'apprentice'_, she thought.

"Jeez, Molly," she said, resuming to type away at whatever he was doing. "I only want what's best for you."

The patronizing tone he had put on only made her even angrier, but she knew she couldn't do anything about it, bloody Jim. "Fine," she muttered, plugging out the hairdryer she was using – even if her hair still wasn't dry from the shower she had just taken – and walking out of the room in frustration. This was one of the moments she despised him.

Going up to her room in frustration, she flopped onto her bed and shut her eyes, wanting to block out everything that was bothering her. She hated life – hated it, hated it, _hated_ it. The same, constant feeling that kept on rushing into her, that she could never get rid of – hate. Never anything else.

Opening her eyes again, she leaned over and picked up the biology book she had left by her bedside table the previous night, and opened to the page where she had left off. Losing herself in fascination yet again.

Poor Molly Moran and the fate she was going to face.


	15. Molly Hooper

**Chapter 15**

Molly had applied for the place with fake documents and was accepted after another month of anxious waiting. She had used her regular surname, Hooper – Molly wasn't entirely sure she could get used to a new forename, so she kept it happily.

The first year she did not see Sherlock Holmes, but as the months went by she realized that it really wasn't for him. She enjoyed studying the human body and the various problems and diseases it held – she liked the structures and the passageways and the way things worked inside. Molly appreciated the body and that was why she loved her job so much.

Molly Moran slowly became Molly Hooper, the shy, sweet student doctor who worked at Bart's hospital. The evil Molly Moran who hated everything – well, _almost_ everything – was slowly fading and this new personality was taking her over, affecting her relationship with everybody she communicated with; especially Jim Moriarty. She flinched every time she saw him with new files stashed away or unread e-mails from unknown senders; she stopped doing half the tasks she was set and even started to hide some of the weapons and drugs away from him.

It still bothered her quite a lot, however, that Jim didn't say a word about the change of character, the late night shifts, the incompletion of tasks, the way she behaved in general. It was only one rather average weekend when Jim was sitting at the desk in his room and called Molly in, wanting her to fetch something for him.

"Can you get me my credit card from my jacket in the hallway, Molly?" he asked, not looking up from the sorting he was doing as she walked into the room. Sighing, she didn't argue, quickly getting it for him as he had requested. As Molly placed it down on the desk, she paused.

"Why do you still keep the Irish accent even after living in London for so long?" She asked curiously, finally seizing the opportunity to question what had been on her mind for a while now.

Jim grinned without looking up. "And why do you still bother staying in this flat with me when you've changed so much?"

Molly was honestly surprised by his inquiry and didn't respond for a moment, staring at him as he picked up the credit card and scanning the numbers casually. When she finally gained her composure again, she coughed, and said "What?"

Jim sighed, placing down the card in front of him and glancing up to look straight at Molly. His eyes were bored, the usual spark that usually burned now fading away, slowly. "Don't pull that on me. You don't think I haven't noticed? You've stopped doing everything I ask you, you're hiding all my stuff and you've even tried to delete some of my e-mails. The job's changed you. You're not Molly Moran anymore. All I can see standing in front of me is Molly Hooper."

Those words never left her mind.

* * *

He didn't come often.

Every once a month or so he sauntered in to the lab she worked in, asking for samples of different bacterium and diseases, or at times requesting for the files of various patients. He did whatever she could to please him – it was Molly's duty to do what satisfied Jim. Perhaps it was the only thing she lived for. She still cared, even if she wasn't the same. Even if part of her evil self had gone.

Sherlock Holmes was a clever man. He sat in the lab identifying each substance, occasionally calling Molly for a coffee or a cup of tea. It came to her slowly that he was not paid to work – he enjoyed doing it. Maybe that was why Jim was so interested in him. He did these things voluntarily.

Molly had tried to tell Jim that Sherlock was now coming to the hospital, but every time he just brushed her off like a fly sitting upon his skin. He didn't ask how Molly was and how her day went anymore; he didn't require for her help, only rarely sending her e-mails with tasks to do – tasks that did not require contact; he didn't flirt with her or mess with her mind. It was as if she were non-existent, a lonely being drifting through the flat with low spirits, an empty heart and a sad smile upon her lips. Molly still tried to impress – only to fall once again, rejected and bullied and neglected. It were those cold, silent, dark nights where Molly lied in her bed, eyes shut tight with the words I wish he cared every so often escaping from her tongue.

But after a while of putting up with it, she thought she could cope without him. She could finish her medical studies and continue to work at Bart's, receiving money and paying the rent by herself. She could continue to assess Sherlock Holmes in silence as he started to attend more often; she could continue posing as Molly Hooper. Continue _being_ Molly Hooper. She had no reason to spend long desolate nights crying silently into her pillow like a teenager of thirteen or fourteen years old – she could be the person she always aspired to be, strong and unbreakable on the inside. Jim was just another plaything in life – no communication, no relationship, no more of the friendship they shared so long ago. It was over, and there was just a slight chance that perhaps they would never be the same as they were before.

Jim's game was up. It was Molly's turn now.

* * *

Sherlock looked up as Molly stumbled into the room, holding a bundle of papers against her chest with an anxious expression on her face. "Ah, the documents," he said, nodding once and looking back into the microscope, "thank you."

Molly was never a girl with great coordination, and it wasn't surprising that she tripped over her own feet and scattered all the papers she was holding across the floor. Grunting in frustration, she sat upon her knees and tried sorting them back into the order she had them in previously, not bothering to look up to Sherlock to see if he would offer any sort of help. She was used to his heartlessness by now.

Once she had finally sorted them all and placed them on his desk exasperatingly, Sherlock nodded again, before saying, "You didn't get any sleep last night."

A simple deduction that Molly did not need to question. "No, I didn't."

"You were writing," he said. "Quite a lot. I would say plotting something but I can't be sure. Your fingers are covered in pen which you've tried to wash off in the morning but failed. You're eyes are weary, but attentive, as if careful of giving away something, so maybe that suggests you're plotting something. And your facial expression looks a bit lost, as if you're missing someone or something."

Molly had genuinely no idea what to say. "Uh… well… yeah. Um. Okay. Uh. Here they are. Um. I tried to sort them to what they were before, sorry if they're in the wrong order. Um, I should go…"

As Molly stumbled out of them room yet again, Sherlock looked up, a frown knitted upon his face. What was so strange about the feeble aspiring doctor who worked at Bart's hospital?


	16. A little note

So, um, hey everyone.

I'm currently suffering from writers block (_and wasting my life on tumblr and photoshop_) so I haven't the slightest clue when the next chapter will be up; I'm kind of losing inspiration for this. Which isn't new, since I lose inspiration for everything I write.

So, yeah. I don't know if I'll be giving it up completely but yeah. I'll try.

**Also please can you stop reviewing Paula; it's pissing me off now. And stop stealing my ideas. :\**

Okay, till next time!

Nadia x


	17. A Sudden Occasion

YOU GUYS YOU GUYS I DID IT I DID IT! I ACTUALLY WROTE SOMETHING! I am incredibly proud of myself and after seeing my lovely reviewers I thought I should push myself to write this chapter and well here it it you guys C: I guess this is a bit of filler, but idk? enjoy anyway.

* * *

Jim Moriarty did not believe in love.

He believed in other things – lust, revenge, hate, bitterness – but the idea of love always made him scoff in amusement. Falling in love was something that the weak did. Something that other people did. Jim Moriarty was not the same as other people. His feelings were complex, mixed up, difficult to unscramble.

Perhaps that was the reason a sudden barrier came through the two of them.

Jim did not blame himself for it. It was her fault she couldn't get used to his heartlessness, his inconsideration. It was her fault she couldn't pass over the fact that he was never going to love anybody – especially not her. It was Molly Moran's fault that she was unable to comprehend with who he was.

He did not mourn over his loss. He did not lie in his bed with his eyes shut wanting what he used to have back. His life proceeded in the same manner, just making the tasks the tiniest bit more difficult without a helping hand. But he was no fool. Help was not necessary.

It was one rather ordinary evening a couple of years after their argument – yes, _years_ – where Molly had gone out somewhere and the house was left alone to Jim when the doorbell rang. Jim was casually flicking through the various television channels they owned on their television – nothing was of much interest to him – and he honestly wasn't expecting a visitor at this time. He startled a little, before getting up and making his way to the door and opening it just slightly to get a glance of who it was.

The attack was sudden. Jim was grabbed by the collar of his shirt and pushed up violently against the wall before he even had the chance to say something. The hot aurora of the elder man's breath against Jim's skin brought back nostalgia and it only took a matter of seconds for him to calculate who was pushing him up against the wall of his own house.

"If you dare try to make a move on me," the man growled into Jim's ear, "I will kill you. Understand?"

Jim grinned, resting the back of his head against the wall and scoffing to himself. "Oh, this is brilliant. Joe. I wouldn't kill you for the world."

The grip this Joe person had on Jim's collar loosened a little, but was still strong. Jim did not fight. He genuinely thought it was fantastic, that the person he had not come into contact for ten years had found him, tracked him down out of all the people who inhabited in London. Jim knew the wit run through the family.

"What's the sudden occasion?" Jim asked sarcastically. "Are you getting married? Although I wouldn't want to see who would want to marry my brother, the stuck up, lazy, arrogant kid –"

"Shut up," he hissed. "I'll let you go if you swear that you won't do anything to hurt me."

"Why would I want to do that, to my own brother, are you nuts?"

"It was you," he said quietly, and a straight face immediately tugged at Jim's lips. Those words made the whole situation much more serious. "I knew it was you, all those years ago, who murdered that poor Carl Powers guy. And all of those murders that followed, it wasn't a hard step. Don't do anything, Jim. You may be a psychopath but you're still my brother."

He didn't say anything, only nodded, and Joe Moriarty let go of him. "That's why I came," he said, a little more casually now. "I haven't talked to you in years. Let's just sit and talk, yeah?"

The younger man did not respond, only quickly darting into the sitting room and quickly stuffing every piece of private information somewhere where his brother couldn't see. It was a quick movement, and Joe hardly noticed – instead he sat down on the sofa and waited for Jim to sit, too.

"What are you really doing here, Joe?" Jim asked, a little annoyed by now as he sat down.

"What? Exactly what I told you," Joe said, frowning a little that Jim didn't believe him. "Why would I lie?" There was a slight pause before he sniffed, the expression on his face changing to surprise. "Is that perfume? Have you got a girlfriend?"

Jim sniffed slightly, too, and could detect the scent of perfume that Molly always wore. "What? Of course not. She's just a flat share. She's nobody."

Joe raised an eyebrow, obviously not convinced by Jim's claim. "Why would somebody like you have a flat share? I would've thought you wanted to keep your private business, well, private."

"How did you know?"

Joe smiled. "You were always an ambitious kid. You liked challenges. You never liked to lose, and for you there was always some way that you had to win. I mean, forgetting to breathe is one of the stupidest reasons somebody could die, and thanks to Mum and Dad's rather informative Skype calls I knew you went to the same school as Carl. You hated London, from what they told me, and no doubt you would've hated the people, too. I couldn't have been sure, but I knew it was connected to you, in some way. It's nice to know I'm right for once."

There was a silence that lingered between the two of them for some time until Jim finally sighed and asked, "What happened to Mum and Dad anyway?"

"No idea," Joe said. "I honestly couldn't care, either. If they didn't care about their son having gone missing, then what was the point of me caring about them?"

There was more silence – Jim was uncertain whether he could believe his brother completely – before he finally said, "I think you should probably leave now."

"You ever get scared, Jim?" Joe asked, ignoring Jim's request. "You ever get scared that one day you're going to get caught? That one day there'll be a man who'll come sauntering along and defeat you completely, and you realize there's nothing else you can do?"

Jim smirked. "That's not going to happen."

Joe did not say anything else; he stood up, stretching a little, before making his way out of the apartment. Just before he shut the door behind him, he called, "You can never be sure, James."

* * *

There were four knocks upon her door at precisely 2am. She did not answer; she didn't even move. He would come in anyway. It wasn't a matter of choice.

"Hi," he said as he opened the door, stepping in through the small gap effortlessly. He hadn't changed much – he was still small and slender like he used to be.

She did not answer.

"Oh, you're not going to talk to me now? You know, we haven't spoken in _years_. Doesn't that seem a little, well, _childish_? We do share the same flat, after all."

"What do you want?" She whispered quietly, unsure as to whether she was speaking to him or to herself. These days the woman wasn't sure about anything anymore, even the silliest things like that.

"I want to end this," he said simply, now by her bedside and quite obviously wanting to get in. She did not refuse yet she did not accept; instead she said, "End what, Jim?"

"This petty feud between us," he said, sliding in beside her and whispering in her ear, "budge up." She was tempted to tell him to piss off, but of course he wasn't going to do that. Jim didn't listen to anybody except for himself.

Selfish cow.

"It's been hard though," he continued. "Doing stuff on my own. It's always appreciated, a helping hand. And I couldn't ask for anybody smarter and better than you, eh, Molly?"

Her heart rate was increasing now; the distance between them was abnormally close and his hot breath was prickling her skin. She could almost feel his heartbeat, and the cold sleepless night that she had been experienced only a few minutes ago was now a hot, flattering one.

"Please," he said into her ear. "Let's just be friends again, okay?"

_We were never friends, Jim. _

She wished she could tell him this.

She wished she could win over him.

All she did was nod slightly. Jim smiled in the darkness, having known that he had finally gained back his apprentice.

"Good," he breathed onto her neck. "Now the first thing I need you to do is kill my brother."


End file.
